Noon to 4pm ...

Ed Harcourt

Proof, if proof were needed, that what the press say doesn’t really have much bearing comes in the shape of Ed Harcourt. Despite the yards of serious media coverage and award nominations, Harcourt still finds himself with an early afternoon tent slot.
He is, however, fabulous. The ill-advised beard he currently sports notwithstanding, there can be few men outside of Chris Martin’d realm who can make a piano look quite so sexy, and his multi-instrumented band help infuse an uplifting joy into his simple songs, particularly ‘Watching The Sun Come Up’. So maybe we were right after all.

Dave Couse

As soon as Dave Couse steps on stage, it becomes evident that there is still an awful lot of goodwill abounding for this man – perhaps more than ever. It can’t just be a case of nostalgia (most of the audience would have been wobbling around in nappies when he last hit his commercial prime) but Couse is evidently aware that today his role is to be that of crowd pleaser. He cuts straight to the chase by the second song in with a ragged but charming blast through ‘Here Come The Good Times’. It about sums up his performance – rough around the edges but nigh perfect for the occasion. Job done, he can get back to his equally impressive solo career with a good few more converts in tow.

Alphastate

The succession of young Irish bands opening up proceedings across the board may not be facing such a torrid time as last year, yet they are still battling to keep the attention of the masses. Alphastates’ atmospheric stylings should suffer more than most, but they manage to pull off a small triumph. Catherine Dowling’s vocals still remain their most unique selling point, but they refuse to let themselves become dwarfed by the expanse of the space and even manage a stab at dry-ice-assisted dramatics.

Berkeley

While a piece of remarkable scheduling has the Revs rumbling away in the background, Berkeley are as aware as anyone of the irony of their Donegal punk soundclash. Maybe why that’s why they’re so fired up for this, or maybe the sound hitches that delay their performance bring back too many unwelcome memories of last year’s debacle. Whatever, the three-piece tear the roof off the place. Tommy in particular is a one man Datsuns, helping whip the rapidly filling tent into something rapidly approaching a frenzy. “Are you not watching the Revs?” he asks with a sly grin. “Perhaps you made an informed decision”.